Reflection by Scott Blencow, Religious Education Leader, Mary MacKillop Catholic Regional College
First Reading Exodus 17:8-13;
Second Reading 2 Timothy 3:14 – 4:2;
Gospel Luke 18:1-8
I’ve never actually watched an entire episode of Star Trek: The Original Series, but I’ve always been fascinated by the interactions between its three central characters: Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy.
Even in brief scenes, one thing always stood out clearly. These weren’t just side characters orbiting a hero. They were radically different in temperament and worldview—but somehow, they worked. Kirk was the bold leader, often impulsive. Spock was the voice of logic and analysis. McCoy, the doctor, was the emotional conscience—sometimes outraged, often sarcastic, but deeply human.
What made them compelling wasn’t perfection. It was the way they balanced each other—taking turns being wise, brave, and tired. When the ship was in danger or the mission teetered on the edge, they showed up for each other.
Even in science fiction, that’s something deeply real.
We’re not meant to navigate life entirely on our own. We need people who steady us when we’re overwhelmed, who step forward when we grow weary, who remind us of who we are when we forget. And in turn, we do that for others.
It’s easy to imagine strength as something we summon from within. But more often, it’s something we pass between us. Shared. Lent. Upheld.
Scripture takes that truth—that we’re stronger together—and reveals something more.
In Exodus, the Israelites face a sudden, unjust attack from the Amalekites—a people remembered for preying on the weak and weary (Deut 25:17–18). While Joshua leads the fight, Moses stands on a hill, arms raised in prayer, holding the staff of God—a sign of divine presence and power. But as the battle drags on, Moses grows tired. His arms falter, and the tide turns.
That’s when Aaron and Hur step in. They bring a stone for him to sit on, then support his arms—one on each side—until sunset. The victory comes not through Moses’ strength alone, but through the shared perseverance of three.
It’s a moment affirming what we know from experience: even the faithful grow weary. Even the strong reach their limits.
Catholic tradition sees here more than a lesson in teamwork. It sees a vision of communal prayer—not merely private perseverance, but strength drawn from the entire Church. Just as Moses could not keep praying alone, we too are sustained by the Eucharist, the communion of saints, and the prayers of the faithful around us. When we struggle, we are not forgotten. We never pray alone.
Moses’ raised arms foreshadow Christ’s outstretched arms on the Cross—the Son's eternal prayer of intercession, lifted up for our salvation. His fatigue echoes our own. His being upheld reminds us of the Church’s call to uphold one another until the light returns.
This moment—three people supporting each other in vulnerability and strength—gestures toward the very nature of God.
Catholicism teaches that God is not a solitary being, distant and self-contained. Rather, at the heart of God is relationship: a communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—three Persons, one God. This is not a puzzle to be solved, but a truth to be lived. The Trinity is not a theological footnote, but the foundation of everything: God is love (1 John 4:8), because God is relational. Because God is relational, we too are called into relationship—with God and with each other.
This is the ‘and more’ Catholicism offers.
We all have moments when our arms grow heavy. When faith feels thin, prayer unanswered, and burdens too heavy. The Gospel truth is this: we’re not meant to carry these moments alone.
Sometimes we’re Moses. Sometimes Aaron or Hur. Sometimes we’re simply the stone that steadies someone else. But in every case, we are part of something greater. This is what it means to be the Body of Christ. This is what it means to live the Trinity.
And when we have nothing left, we can trust that we are held—by the prayers of others, by the communion of saints, and by the Spirit, who prays in us when our own words run out.
The Trinity is not far off. It is within us, between us, among us.
Let us take turns being strong.
Who has held your arms when you were tired?
Whose arms can you hold up today?
